Ed walked back down the hallway with Hughes, not sure what he was supposed to think about all this. As far as Ed knew, Hughes never kept secrets from Mustang... but now here he was, telling Ed to keep his mouth shut about something that he thought was pretty important. Why was Hughes heading this investigation at all, if he didn't want anyone to know who the criminal was? What gave the lieutenant colonel the right to do that?

Then again, Ed had to admit that he'd been rethinking his perception of Hughes during the past two days. It seemed as if the happy-go-lucky man had darkened into a serious and dour—and even slightly violent, Ed observed, when it came to Havoc's interrogation—soldier that scarcely resembled the Maes Hughes that Ed had thought he knew.

Not to say that Hughes had never been serious about his job. That certainly wasn't true, for Ed had seen him get pretty intense when he was working, barking out orders and physically taking people down when he needed to. No, Hughes was definitely dedicated to his line of work... but never before had Ed felt threatened by that.

"Remember, Edward," Hughes said quietly as they reached the door the to meeting-room, "Not a word."

Ed didn't say anything, knowing that if he opened his mouth, his anger and disbelief would spill out. Hughes was blackmailing him, and there was nothing that Ed could do about it.

When Ed had tried to argue that Mustang really should know about his attempted murderer, Hughes had calmly said that if Ed told anyone, he could easily make his military life hell. He didn't bother describing how, but Ed fully believed him and felt a tiny thrill of confused fear and impotent rage tingling in the pit of his stomach. Hughes was pretty high up in the military, and could no doubt do what he offhandly threatened. Ed was trapped between what he thought was right and what was best for him and Al.

Hughes pushed open the door and they went inside. Al was sitting next to Hawkeye at the table, having gone in while Ed was trying to talk to Havoc. Mustang was on Hawkeye's other side and Breda was on the other side of the table, next to Fuery.

"Our top priorities at the moment are to figure out who, exactly, has taken control of Havoc... " Mustang was saying, motioning Ed to come in and take the chair beside Al without breaking speech, "And, more importantly, how can he be detached."

"Do we even know how to go about doing that?" Fuery asked, eyeing Mustang uncertainly. This was probably the first time that he had seen the colonel awake and—even allowing for his injuries—Ed had to agree that he did not look good.

Mustang took a breath and rubbed his eyes, obviously in pain and trying not to show it. "Well, our first step to identifying this person is to go through the prison records... those that weren't destroyed in the fire, at least. We've already gotten a start on that, and Hughes seems to be making some headway..." he paused for a beat, watching Hughes seat himself beside Breda. He looked at him for a moment critically, then continued on. "Any alchemists imprisoned there would have been labeled as such in their files. The legal system likes to keep close tabs on us once we've proven ourselves... untrustworthy." His last sentence was said with a humorless smile that sent a chill down Ed's spine.

"And the other part?" Fuery pressed on, "How do we figure out how to... to de-possess Havoc? We're not talking exorcism or anything... are we?"

"No, certainly not..." Mustang sighed harshly, "We aren't dealing with demons, here. This has nothing to do with God, or the devil, or priests, or spirits. This is science. We are dealing with a scientist, not a monster. A human being, just like the rest of us. Never forget that. There is nothing supernatural going on here."

Fuery ducked his head a little at the bare irritation in Mustang's voice and didn't say anything else.

Mustang continued looking at him for a moment, then his shoulders slumped and he rubbed his face again, "But, to answer your question... I have no idea how to 'de-possess' Havoc. That is why Fullmetal and his brother are here. I don't know anyone more knowledgeable on the subject of soul-binding than these two boys." He turned to Ed, "Any comment?"

Ed deadpanned for a moment, startled. Though he'd infrequently sat in on some of Mustang's staff-meetings, he'd never spoken at them, and being asked to voice his thoughts now—while he wasn't exactly shy—was a little intimidating.

"Well," Al began when Ed floundered, "The most we can say right now is that this is definitely different stuff than my soul-binding... For starters, this alchemist must have a lot more control over Havoc's body than I do over mine. I mean, this person can even control Havoc's voice. I don't have a voicebox, I speak with my soul, in my old voice... but this person has learned to manipulate more than just Havoc's movement. If he controls his voice, he controls his breathing... and that must mean that this goes very deep."

He paused and looked to Ed, who cleared his throat. "We're thinking that there has to be some sort of a transmutation circle somewhere on Havoc's body. In Al's case, his circle is the only thing keeping his soul attached to the armor."

"So if we just destroy the circle, Havoc'll be okay...?" Breda asked hopefully.

Ed bit his lip. "Well, that's what we thought at first... but like Al says, it goes deeper than that and Havoc certainly doesn't look good... He's feverish and Hughes says that the doctors don't know why... I think the criminal is doing it, though I can't be sure. There has to be something more to it, for... for this alchemist to have so much control." He looked over at Hughes as he emphasized the word 'alchemist' and the man's eyes narrowed. Ed glanced over at Mustang and saw that he was looking back and forth between Ed and the lieutenant colonel, expression closed.

"Anyway," Ed continued, "I don't think we should risk messing with the circle just yet... once we find it, at least. I'd like to do some research first. This is some heavy alchemy, but I'm confident that we'll be able to find some theoretical journals on it somewhere."

"Sounds like a start," Mustang agreed. He turned to Hughes, "If you could enlist Private Scieszka to find any and all books relating to soul-binding theory, I'm sure it would be a great help. There's a phone at the other end of the ward."

"Yes, sir," Hughes replied grudgingly, knowing that he was being dismissed. He shot another warning glance at Ed as he got to his feet and saluted, but then he turned and left without another word.

Mustang didn't turn to watch him leave, and instead addressed his other men, "Hawkeye, I'd like you to go and get an updated copy of Havoc's medical records. I wasn't aware that Havoc was feverish on top of everything else. I want to be kept better informed, people. Fuery and Breda..." he stopped, seeming to falter a little, then finished quietly, "Go see Havoc for a while."

"I'll get the hospital security to unlock the door for them," Hawkeye volunteered.

"Thank you, sir..." Fuery rasped. Breda just nodded, swallowing tightly as they both stood. All three of them saluted and filed out of the room.

Mustang waited for the door to close behind them before he fixed his penetrating gaze on Ed.

"So. Edward," he said casually, "Anything you'd like to tell me?"

Ed's eyebrows raised, impressed. Clever man. Maybe he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that he knew people and how they behaved. He already knew that something was up without anyone even saying anything. No wonder he'd made it so far in the military before he'd even reached the age of thirty; he was ridiculously observant and calculating, and knew how to glean advantage from having such a focused gift.

Ed hesitated before speaking. "Before I say anything," he began, "How much power does Hughes have over me? Military-wise?"

Mustang's brow furrowed, "Well, he outranks you... but I have the power to overturn any order he gives you, if that's what you're worried about."

"What's going on, Brother?" Al asked, sounding a little concerned.

"Hughes ordered me to keep my mouth shut about something, under the threat of making military life more difficult for me."

"He's bluffing," Mustang smirked, "You're under my command, not his. He can't do anything to you."

Ed sighed, still unsure.

"Is it something that you really think I should know?" the colonel prodded patiently.

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

He licked his lips. "...We know whose soul is bound to Havoc."

Mustang steepled his fingers calmly, unsurprised. "I figured. Hughes rushed out of here earlier while he was going through the prison records, I could only assume that he'd found something."

Ed felt a tremulous little wave of relief. This wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be... He'd thought that Hughes and Mustang told each other everything, but Mustang looked as if he was used to Hughes routinely hiding things from him. He didn't look happy about it, but he certainly wasn't shocked.

"Do you know the alchemist's name?" Mustang asked, "Is it someone I know, or just a random assassin?"

"Um, I don't know... I think he might have been a State Alchemist, but Hughes wouldn't give me a straight answer. I can't remember his name... it was something like Kelley or Kimble..."

"...It wasn't Kimbley, was it...?"

"Yeah, that was it," Ed remembered, snapping his fingers, "The Crimson Alchemist, right?"

Mustang froze, stiffening as if the alchemist's title had inflicted him with physical pain. His face contorted with incredulity, then darkened with rage and, as Ed watched him, he slowly realized that he had never really seen Mustang get angry before.

"What?" the colonel demanded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jean looked really bad this morning. Not to say that he'd looked good yesterday, but there was a definite decline in his health that both Heymans and Fuery couldn't help but notice.

He didn't really respond much when they came in, but when Breda called his name, he opened his eyes and looked over at him briefly before letting them fall shut again.

"Jean?" Heymans called again, reaching over to take his fettered hand in his own, "Can you hear me?"

"Jean is unreachable at the moment," the body before him said sardonically, eyes still shut, "Would you like to leave a message?"

Heymans' insides squirmed, sickened to hear such words coming from Jean's mouth, in Jean's voice, but know without doubt that he wasn't really the one speaking.

"I want to talk to Jean," Heymans asserted.

"I'm sure he would if he could, but he's had enough fun for one day and he's a little tired, so shut up."

"Fine, we'll talk to you then."

The alchemist sighed loudly, irritated, and looked over at him again. "I have nothing to say to either of you."

"Then just sit back and listen, because I have a lot to say to you, you sick fucker."

"Ooh, feisty."

"What kind of a person does something like this? You haven't hurt just one innocent man, but two!"

"Innocent, innocent..." the alchemist mused, "You like that word, don't you? I'll admit that Lieutenant Havoc here was an 'innocent' bystander who happened to suit my needs... but as I've said before, Mustang is far from innocent."

"Roy Mustang is a good man," Fuery said, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the room. "One of the finest I know."

"Roy Mustang is a liar and a coward. He's a manipulative bastard who would do anything to excel in the ranks..."

"Oh, shut the fuck up..." Heymans spat, "We've all heard the rumors. We all know that he was ordered to do some terrible things in Ishbal. We've heard it all, it's old. Moreover, it's gross exaggeration. He's not the demon he was made out to be, I know that for a fact."

"Really? 'For a fact', huh? How do you know? Were you in Ishbal? Did you see what he did for yourself? I did."

"It doesn't matter what he did! He was under orders, none of it was his fault!" Heymans exploded, "He is a good person and he would never—"

Heymans' tirade was cut short by the unlocked door slamming open to reveal the subject of their debate, Roy Mustang, bracing himself in the doorway, back heaving with exertion and fury.

"You son of a bitch..." he panted, eyes wild with some kind of frenzied expression somewhere between rage and agony. He staggered over to the bound figure on the bed, hands shaking murderously, but Fullmetal ran into the room right behind him and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him back. Alphonse stood just beyond the doorway, nervously wringing his waistcloth in his metal hands.

"Hey!" Ed shouted, "Colonel, stop!"

"He's Kimbley!" Mustang roared, struggling against Edward's hold on him. Heymans rushed over to them and put his hands on the colonel's shoulders, helping Ed keep him back.

"Mustang!" Havoc's possessor exclaimed in mock-pleasure, grinning at him. He pulled himself upright against the head of the bed with sudden interest, the slack on the straps binding his ankles to the bed allowing him enough leeway to sit up. "We were just talking about you!"

"You fucking traitor!"

"I see you've let your hair grow out a little. It's cute. I meant to say something about it before, but I was too distracted by the delicious feel of your blood on my hands..."

"Monster!"

"Aw, listen to the pot calling the kettle black..."

Mustang made a guttural, animal sound and lunged against Heymans, fighting to get at Havoc. Heymans pushed him back and together, he and Ed forced him back out into the hallway.

"Sir, you need to calm down..." Heymans said, gripping his shoulders tightly and pressing him back against the wall of the corridor gently, "You're not well..."

"I am not going to calm down!" he bellowed, "Do you know who that is?"

"...What's going on?"

Everyone looked over to see Lieutenant Colonel Hughes storming toward them. He took a look at the open doorway to Havoc's hospital room, then glanced at Mustang's gasping, unspeakable wrath, then his eyes snapped over to glower at Edward.

"You told him?!" he demanded.

Ed's eyes were huge, one hand still holding onto Mustang's arm. "I..." he stumbled, but Mustang stepped in before he could say any more.

"He didn't tell me anything, I figured it out on my own!" Mustang seethed, shrugging Heymans off and jerking is arm out of Ed's grasp. "And how dare you try to keep this from me! What would make you do such a thing?!"

"I was afraid you'd over-react. Silly me."

"You know my history with that bastard!"

"And that's exactly why I wasn't going to tell you yet!"

"I h-had a right to know!"

"Yes, you did. I agree with that, and I was going to tell you, but the timing wasn't—"

"Fuck the timing, Maes!" Mustang screamed at him, clutching the front of his uniform with trembling hands and jerking their faces close together. "Havoc is stuck in there with that... that psychopath...!"

Hughes glared down at the colonel sharply, but then his expression softened a little, "Roy, are you okay...?"

"Timing doesn't matter!" Mustang ranted on as if Hughes hadn't said anything, "We don't have any time! We... W-we..."

Mustang's eyelids wavered and he trailed off with a helpless little gasp. His legs gave out from under him and he sagged backward, letting go of Hughes in the grip of a dead faint. Breda yelped and caught him from behind to keep him from falling, gently sinking with him down to the floor. Hughes dropped down beside them quickly, his mouth a tight line of alarm. Mustang gave a soft little groan and doubled over, pressing a hand to his wound. His face had gone completely ashen and his white lips trembled as he panted in air.

"Deep breaths, Roy..." Hughes crooned tensely, all traces of his anger vanishing like a drop of water on a hot frying pan, "Come on... just breathe..."

Mustang bowed his head further and did as he was told, sucking in slow, deep breaths as he fought against his looming blackout.

"Is he okay?" Alphonse squeaked. Ed stood next to him, looking half-panicked.

"I think so... Roy?" Hughes queried gently. Mustang nodded to confirm that he was okay but didn't speak, too focused on his suffering body's need for oxygen to bother vocalizing his wellbeing. "I think he just got a little too worked up... Damn it, Roy, you need to rest. You can't keep running around like this..."

"I'm... I'm f-fine, damn it.

"Sorry, but your argument isn't very convincing," Hughes told him dryly, "You're going home."

"No..."

"Too bad. There's nothing you can do about it. I'm in charge of this investigation and I have command over the hospital security. I can have you escorted off the premises if you won't go quietly."

Mustang looked up at him incredulously, a droplet of cold sweat trailing down from his temple. "You can't..."

"I can. And I will. I do have the authority. Not to mention, you're still on record as being under strict medical care, so technically I outrank you by default. I'm serious, Roy; you aren't up to this. I'm not going to make you stay in the hospital, because I know that you really don't want to... but I order you to go home."

Mustang stared at his friend, looking betrayed. He knew that Hughes was right and that he did have authority, but he looked as if he hadn't realized that until just now... and he did not like the idea in the slightest. He lowered his eyes and nodded with an angry sort of resignation, then tried to get to his feet.

Hughes supported him and, together, they slowly straightened. Mustang looked ready to faint again just from the effort of standing, but he managed to stay on his feet. Hughes watched him for a moment, lips pursed, then,

"Alphonse," he said, "If you'd be so kind, would you carry the colonel down to the entrance and hail him a cab?"

"What?" Mustang asked, "Now, Maes, really..."

"Do you really think that you can walk that far on your own?" Hughes countered reasonably.

"No... but, I--"

"It would be faster if he just carried you, and I want you out of here now."

Mustang's face darkened. "You can be a real asshole sometimes, Maes."

"Only when I need to be." He turned back to Al, "Alphonse, please."

Alphonse made a low, unhappy sound, then shuffled over to the colonel awkwardly. "Sorry, sir," he apologized with a little bow, then moved in to scoop him up.

Mustang pressed his back against the wall, seething. "You're not carrying me, Alphonse. You can help me, but I will not be carried."

"Fine," Hughes conceded, "Alphonse, help him get into a cab and take him to his apartment. I want you to stay with him and make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

Mustang rolled his eyes, angry but too tired to argue further. He put a hand on Alphonse's arm and motioned for him to lead the way with a curt tilt of his head. Al looked back at Edward helplessly, then slowly guided Mustang away. Ed moved to follow them, but Hughes dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder and he stopped in his tracks, his face suddenly nervous.

Heymans, Fuery, Hughes, and Edward watched Mustang and Alphonse disappear around the corner and, for a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Heymans was moved to break the vaguely tense silence.

"That was a little harsh, don't you think?" he asked Hughes, cocking an eyebrow.

"Nah," he replied, "I wasn't really going to make Al carry him... I just said that to make him more compliant about leaving..."

"Ah, manipulating the manipulator. Good work."

Hughes grinned, but then he looked down at Edward and sobered, digging his fingers into the kid's shoulder. "Did you tell him, Edward?"

"...He told you that I didn't."

Hughes continued to stared down at him, looming with silent threat the same way he had loomed over Havoc in the interrogation room. Ed looked back up at him defiantly and though his face seemed to blanch a little under his tan skin, his gaze didn't waver.

"...Fine. Go help your brother."

"Yes, sir."

"Just keep Roy in his apartment and make sure he doesn't hurt himself, okay? I told Scieszka to deliver the alchemy books there so that Roy can help with the research."

"Thank you, sir," Ed said with a grudging kind of gratitude.

"I'll be over later this afternoon to check on him, but first I need to make some calls and get some more information on Kimbley. Just help him out until then, okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Can I go?"

Hughes let him go and Ed shoved his hands in his pockets moodily before slouching away from them, going after his brother and Mustang. He looked like he wanted to run down the corridor and get out of sight as quickly as he could, but he made himself walk slowly, head held high.

"So... I'm guessing that we know who is possessing Havoc, now," Fuery said as Ed rounded the corner, "At least, that's what I got from all the yelling..."

Hughes sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Mm-hm... Major Zolf Kimbley. Remember him?"

"Vaguely... He was that alchemist who went nuts on his superiors in Ishbal, right?"

"He slaughtered them, if that's what you mean. Roy had to bunk with him in Ishbal; he never went into detail, but the guy is apparently a complete wacko," Hughes confirmed grimly, "He'd have to be, to willingly kill his own allies... Roy was a key witness at his trial and did everything he could to put him behind bars. It's no wonder Kimbley wanted revenge..."

"And now he's got a hold of Havoc..."

Hughes nodded slowly, looking back in through the open doorway at Havoc.

"But we'll fix that."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"...I'm sure the cab will be here soon..." Alphonse said, uncomfortable with just sitting in silence with Roy on the low wall in front of the hospital.

Roy grunted, not really wanting to talk. He was upset and he knew that if he said more that a few words, he'd probably start yelling again... and everyone had seen where that had put him: on the floor gasping, trying to stay conscious. Damn, he'd been so mad at Maes... He still was, but he did understand his friend's reasons for trying to keep him in the dark. Now that his shocked fury had passed, he'd had time to stop and wrap his head around what he'd learned.

He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. Not Kimbley... God, anyone but Kimbley... Roy's skin crawled just thinking about it, and his already-unsettled stomach churned threateningly. Roy hated that man... and feared him. Even after all this time. Even after convincing himself that he'd healed from those old wounds. Even after gaining some personal retribution by helping send him to prison...

He shuddered and allowed himself to lean on Alphonse a little more, furtively trying to seek some kind of assurance from his solidity. He felt childish, but he was tired and sick and, oh, he was terrified for Havoc. It had been horrifying enough to know that he was being controlled by some alarmingly powerful criminal, but for that criminal to be Zolf Kimbley...

It was like a nightmare. Havoc was caught in a nightmare that he couldn't wake from. Kimbley was going to wreck him, completely tear him apart from the inside... He was going to drive him insane. Even if Kimbley didn't kill him, he would wish for death by the end of this, however it ended. If it ended. Roy knew Kimbley. He knew him more deeply than he'd ever wanted to, had seen him ruthlessly murder families in their beds...

Actually, no, that wasn't true. He didn't kill them in their beds. He woke them up first with a few loud bangs, because he wanted to see the fear in their eyes when he finally struck. He'd wanted them to have time to realize what was about to happen to them... and then he'd picked them off one-by-one: first the men, then the children. The women he saved for last because, as he'd told Roy more than once, he liked the way that they screamed when they saw their husbands and young ones blown to pieces in front of them. He'd jerked off to it at night, knowing that Roy was still awake bunk next to his and not caring.

Roy shuddered again, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Roy didn't think that there was any person in the world that he hated more.

"Are you alright, sir?" Alphonse asked, "You keep shivering."

"It's cold," he rasped, hugging himself and trying not to think about the demon from his past.

It wasn't why he was shivering, but wasn't really lying, either; he was cold. He felt completely bloodless and the sweat on his face and neck was cooling in the soft breeze. He was glad to be outside, though. The fresh air was helping to calm his rapid pulse and clear his enraged, horrified thoughts. The fact that he was sitting down helped a lot, too. He's stopped shaking and, though his head was pounding and his wound was killing him, he didn't feel like fainting anymore...

"Hey."

Roy looked up. Edward was coming toward them sullenly, face drawn. He hopped over the low wall and seated himself—not next to Al, as Roy would have expected, but next to Roy.

"Hughes give you the third degree?" Roy asked him.

"Yeah... He's pretty mad."

"Let him be mad. I'm mad as hell."

"...Thanks for covering for me back there."

Roy shrugged. "I was only half-lying. I already knew that he'd figured something out... even if you hadn't told me it was Kimbley, I would have worked it out eventually. But Hughes had no right to put you in that situation, especially without you knowing his reasoning."

"Well, to be honest," Ed mumbled, crossing his arms, "I probably wouldn't have told you if I knew you were going to freak out like that... You scared the hell out of me. What did this Kimbley guy do to make you hate him so much?"

"You mean besides possess one of my closest subordinates and use his body to stab me? Do I really need more reason?"

"But there must have been something before that for him to want to stab you in the first place," Ed said rationally, "You even said that you two had a history..."

"...We were in Ishbal together... just leave it at that."

"But—"

"I'd really rather not discuss it. He's a monster and I will stop at nothing to save Havoc from him. Nothing, Edward."

Ed looked at him for a long pause, so long that Roy had to look away from him, uncomfortable. Finally, the kid said, "Al and I will do all we can to help, won't we Al?"

"We won't let you down, Colonel," Alphonse agreed quietly.

Roy's heart swelled unexpectedly. "I appreciate it," he said, downplaying the sudden surge of gratitude in his breast. He knew that Ed and Al would be helping him with this regardless--even if they didn't want to, Roy could have simply given Fullmetal the order—but hearing them, both of them, so sincerely pledge themselves to his cause without any sort of coercion was deeply touching.

Ed smiled, then looked up as a cab pulled up to the curb in front of them. "Come on, sir," he said, gently taking Roy's arm to help him up, "Hughes is having Scieszka deliver our research materials to your place, so we can get started on everything once they arrive."

Roy grunted as he stood, both in agreement and in half-concealed pain. He was with Ed; he wanted to get started as soon as possible. He was deeply encouraged by Ed's confidence and eagerness. Together, the three of them could make this right again and remove Kimbley's presence from Havoc's body. Ed and Al were capable of miracles, Roy had seen it himself. They were powerful and they were so smart. If anyone in the world could help Havoc now, it was them, and all of them needed to act quickly.

The three of them got into the cab and settled themselves on the long back seat.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Roy thought for a moment, then "Ed, do you know where Hughes is now?"

"Um, he said he needed to make some calls..."

"Good, that should keep him occupied for a while. Do you know what the others are doing?"

"No..."

"We'll have to watch out for them, then. Driver, if you would, just take us around to the back entrance of the hospital."

The driver's eyebrows quirked curiously, but then he shrugged and started driving.

"Colonel?" Al asked, looking down at him.

"I want to go back up and see Havoc before we leave. You're right, Edward, there should be a transmutation circle on his body somewhere, and I think we should take a look at it before we go any further."

"I agree..." Ed said grudgingly, "But let me and Al go in, you can go on home."

"I will. After we find the circle. I'd like to see it myself so that I can get an idea of what we're dealing with."

"Colonel, I really think—"

"Ed, please don't argue with me. I'm tired of being treated like an invalid, even by you," he snapped, "I won't break, okay? I'm still capable of doing my job, so let me do it!"

"...Fine. Do what you want," Ed sniffed indignantly, looking out the window, "Let Hughes get angry again, I don't care."

"Good, then come on. I'll need you two to keep watch."

Ed and Al exchanged a look as the cab stopped again on the other side of the hospital, then Ed sighed loudly, rolled his eyes, and got out of the car. Al followed close behind and helped Roy get back on his feet.

Within moments they were back inside, wandering though the hospital corridors. Ed and Al were casting their eyes around vigilantly for any sign of Maes or Roy's men, but it looked like the coast was clear and they made it back up to Havoc's room without much trouble, other than Roy needing to stop and breathe a few times. As difficult as it was for him to move around, he thought that he felt a little better than he had earlier this morning—either that, or he was just becoming accustomed to constant pain. Walking this much was probably good for him, in spite of how hard and painful it was. He was, however, getting very tired, and was almost looking forward to going home after this. A nap and a double-dose of aspirin sounded absolutely divine.

Roy tried to turn the handle on the door and found it to be locked. He wasn't at all surprised and motioned for Ed to come over and open it. Reluctantly, Ed clapped his hands together and touched the handle. There was the typical flash of light and then the handle turned easily under Roy's touch, the lock disengaged.

He pushed the door open, but then hesitated. He didn't want to talk to Kimbley. He didn't want to be alone with him.

"Alphonse, you come in with me. Ed, you stand guard."

"Whatever," Ed muttered under his breath and turned his back on them to make sure no one came down the hallway, "Hurry up."

Roy swallowed his trepidation and stepped into the room, Al close behind.

"You came back?" Kimbley asked, feigning shock, "I knew you'd missed me."

Roy didn't answer him. He didn't even look him in the face. He wanted to be in and out of here as quickly as possible. Just find the circle, commit the lines and shapes to memory, and leave. Simple. He took Havoc's arm and started searching, running his eyes along the muscular limb, then pushing up his sleeve to check his shoulder while Al did the same on his other arm.

"Nothing so far," Al said when Roy looked up at him questioningly.

"What, you're ignoring me?" the demon pouted when he realized that Roy wasn't going to talk to him.

Again, Roy didn't say anything. He checked around Havoc's neck, then pulled down the low collar of his hospital gown to check his chest. Nothing. He moved down methodically, hiking up the gown to check his stomach and sides, knowing that Kimbley was watching his every move through narrowed eyes, no doubt knowing exactly what he was doing. As Roy had assumed he would be, Havoc was naked under the hospital clothes, so he searched his abdomen and groin quickly so that he could pull the gown back down again just enough for the sake of modesty. He knew that Kimbley didn't care, but he wanted to protect Havoc's decency as much as he could, whether or not he was even aware of his surroundings at the moment.

"Reminds you of base camp, doesn't it, Roy-Boy?" Kimbley teased, scooting down on the bed a little so that the hem of his hospital gown rucked up again, exposing his genitals.

Roy's insides clenched with disgust and self-revulsion, his fearful eyes flicking over to Alphonse to see his reaction. Al was still ignoring Kimbley completely. Perhaps he was still too young and naïve to pick up on the implication in Kimbley's words, and Roy was grateful for that. He shook himself and pulled down the hospital smock again before asking Al,

"Anything?"

"No..." Al said thoughtfully, "But maybe it's on his back and we just can't see it because he's tied down to the bed. Do you want me to loosen his restraints so that we--"

"No. Don't... Just... just look elsewhere. That'll be a last resort."

Al nodded and moved down to check Havoc's leg. Roy did the same on his side, silently coaxing Kimbley into bending up his knee so that he could check the underside of his thigh. Nothing, other than the white swatch of gauze covering his bullet-wound. He peeled back a corner of the bandage and looked at the wound. It wasn't pretty, but it didn't look too bad. It was red and swollen around the dark stitches, and no doubt painful.

"...I'm sorry, Havoc," he found himself saying softly, genuinely grieved that he'd had to shoot his subordinate, even if it had been necessary.

Havoc's body suddenly stiffened on the bed and he moaned plaintively, "M-Mustang..."

"Jean?" Roy asked, quickly moving back to the head of the bed, "Is that you?"

He nodded, then moaned again as a tight, pained shudder ran through him. He tried to say something, but then shrieked in sudden agony, clearly fighting to stay in control.

"R-right... right leg... bandage..." he finally managed to force out, panting with the effort.

"You heard him, Al. Check around his wound," Roy ordered.

"Ah! There!" Alphonse exclaimed as he pulled off a corner of the bullet-wound dressing on Havoc's other leg, "I found it!"

"Good work, Havoc. Thank you," Roy said to him, reaching forward to brush his sweaty blond hair out of his eyes. He could feel the fever rising from his skin, emitting sick, clammy heat. "We're going to fix this, my friend... Please, just hold on a little longer."

"'M sorry... I'm so... so s-sorry, C-Colonel..." he whispered, tears welling in his exhausted, bloodshot eyes. "I... I didn't want..."

"I know. I don't blame you. Besides," he smirked warmly, "I got to shoot you twice and you only got to stab me once, so let's call it even, shall we?"

Havoc favored him with a wavering grin and gave a sharp exhalation; half-laugh, half-sob. Roy smiled back, then returned to the foot of the bed and leaned over Havoc's legs to see what Al had found.

It took him a full three seconds to realize the dangerous position he had put himself in by leaning over him like that, having briefly forgotten that Havoc had enough freedom of moment in his legs to draw them up. Roy moved to straighten up again, but it was too late. In those three seconds, Kimbley had regained control and quickly used that power to drive his knee hard into Roy's unprotected stomach.

He choked on the sudden burst of agony as he felt something tear, then the world rocked and he hit the ground hard like a sack of wet sand, unable to process anything outside of the overwhelming pain and the sound of Alphonse screaming for his brother.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ed ran back into the room at his brother's cry and stopped dead when he saw Mustang's body on the floor. The colonel's eyes were wide with shock, his teeth clenched as he curled around his wound in a tight ball, clearly too overpowered by pain to even think of trying to get up again.

Kimbley was laughing hard in a sickening, faux-good-natured way, "Oh, oh man... the look on his face!"

"Al, pick him up!" Ed shouted, "Let's get him out of here!"

Al had already stooped to collect the colonel in his arms before Ed even said anything and they ran out of the room quickly. But where to go?

"In here!" Al said, pushing open the door to one of the many empty hospital rooms that surrounded Havoc's. They rushed in and Al set the colonel down as he started to struggle a little in his arms. Mustang staggered forward a few steps then leaned against the wall with his back to them, doubled over with his hands holding his wound.

"Sir, are you okay?" Ed asked, heart pounding, "Are you bleeding?"

Mustang didn't say anything, just continued gasping against the wall, curling in on himself a little further.

"Sir...?" Ed pressed, moving over to him and putting a hand on his back.

"Just give me a second..." he rasped, his voice so tight that it cracked slightly, sounding suddenly very young. Mustang composed himself with few more deep breaths then finally straightened a little and pulled his hand away from the wound. "Shit..." he cursed quietly when he saw that it was smeared with red.

"Come on, sir. Lie down on the bed," Al urged him, brushing Ed aside a little to take Mustang's arm and pull him gently over to the closest bed. "Let me see how bad it is."

Surprisingly, Mustang let himself be pushed onto the bed and just closed his eyes tightly as Al unbuttoned his shirt with a surprisingly authoritative air. Ed just stood back and watched, jittery with anxiety. Al pulled back the blood-wet cloth to reveal a large, soggy rectangle of gauze that was rumpled and almost completely saturated with blood.

Ed swore. "Should we call someone?"

Mustang shook his head, but didn't seem to be able to speak. He closed his eyes and let his head sink back against the pillow, covering his mouth with one hand.

"Let's have a look at it first..." Al said warily, watching Mustang's face as he started peeling off the gauze, "It might not be that bad..."

Al pulled at the gauze and Mustang abruptly screamed. He bit into his own hand to muffle the sound and Ed felt a jolt of terrified sympathy-pain stab coldly into his own gut.

"Sorry..." Al apologized shakily, "it got caught on the stitches..."

Mustang didn't reply, just sucked in frantic breaths through his nose and tried to stay quiet as Al removed the rest of the bandage.

Ed almost gasped when the wound was uncovered. It was a lot bigger than he'd thought it would be. It wasn't just a straight inch-wide stab-wound as Ed had anticipated. It looked as if Havoc hadn't just stabbed him, but had completely sliced him open when he'd pulled the blade back out. The wound had to be around five inches long, and one corner of it was bleeding freely, the stitches torn and the flesh inflamed.

"See...? It's not so bad..." Al said, trying to sound confident and failing miserably as he took a corner of the bed sheet and tried to wipe some of the blood away. "I'll, uh... I'll just go find some fresh gauze... Hold this. I'll be right back..."

He made Mustang hold the sheet to his wound and hurried out of the room. Ed heard him start running the moment he was out in the hallway, no doubt going to find help. He probably just didn't want Mustang to argue about being readmitted to the hospital and so fibbed about just going out to get gauze. The wound really didn't look like it had been re-injured too badly, but Al always did have the mindset of "better safe than sorry" and Ed completely agreed with him in this case. If he had known the wound was this huge, he never would have taken Mustang out of the hospital to begin with.

Mustang didn't seem to notice the ruse at all, distracted by the indescribable pain he must be experiencing. He opened his watery eyes and gazed up at Ed.

"He'll be back in a minute..." Ed told him awkwardly, feeling like he should reach over and take his hand, but wary of actually doing something so intimate.

Mustang's eyes wandered for a moment dazedly, then closed. He quickly made himself open them again, battling against the urge to give in to unconsciousness, then took his hand from his pallid lips and grabbed Ed's wrist.

"Help me up," he ordered, his voice so thin and low that he scarcely sounded like himself.

Ed hesitated, not knowing whether or not it would really be good for him to be sitting up at the moment, but then carefully supported him as he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the edge. He hunched his back and whimpered, uncaring that his open shirt had slid down off of his pale shoulders, draping from his back and arms like a shawl. His skin was unhealthily white and it shone with perspiration as he shivered and gasped, his bare shoulders starting to quake.

He put his hand over his mouth again quickly and moaned, turning his face away from Ed a little.

"You gonna hurl?" Ed asked him, perhaps a little tactlessly.

Mustang nodded and Ed automatically started looking around for something for him to be sick in.

Al chose that moment to reappear in the doorway. "I had the hospital page Hughes," he said, no longer caring about keeping up with his white lie now that Mustang couldn't argue against getting help. "He should be here in a few moments."

"Damn it, why didn't you get Hawkeye instead?" Ed whined, walking over to retrieve the small metal wastepaper receptacle from between the two beds. "Hughes is going to absolutely murder—"

Ed was interrupted by the wet, gagging sound of Mustang vomiting behind him. He winced, his own stomach turning. Ed wasn't really very squeamish—he was usually okay with gore, as long as it wasn't too terrible—but vomit bothered him. It had ever since he was little.

"Oh... brother, he's bleeding..."

Ed tried to ignore his own nausea and looked over, thinking that the spasm of vomiting had torn Mustang's stitches even further. What he saw, though, was far more worrisome.

Mustang's shoulders heaved again and a fountain of red spewed from his mouth and onto the already-soaked surface of the bed; not vomit, but blood. And lots of it. Mustang gave a short, choking little cry of pain, then opened tightly-closed his eyes and saw the blood for himself. He froze, eyes widening, knowing immediately what it meant.

The blow to his wound must have torn much more than those few stitches on his belly. He was hemorrhaging internally, rapidly bleeding to death from the inside.

Mustang wiped his mouth on the back of his arm calmly, then slowly turned his head to look at Edward. All color had vanished from his face except for the smears of dark red dripping from his lips.

"Ed, it's not your fault," he said urgently, the desperation in his voice sending terror down Ed's spine... because he knew that Mustang wouldn't be saying that unless he thought that he was about to die and didn't want Ed to blame himself for it, as he knew that he would.

Mustang quickly turned his head and heaved again, collapsing back down against the bed as the blood loss finally started to overtake him. Ed dropped the metal bin that he'd picked up and it hit the floor with a resounding clatter as he ran to Mustang's side.

"No! Just lie still, Colonel, you're okay..." Ed cried as Al turned and ran out the door again, realizing that they were going to need more help than Hughes could provide on his own. "Just stay awake, you'll be okay..."

"Roy, what the he—" Hughes started as he stumbled into the doorway, half bowled over by Alphonse's hurried passage. But then he caught sight of Mustang and the massive puddle of blood beside him and decided that explanations could wait.

He ran to them and took Mustang's limp form in his arms, one arm cradling his back, the other ghosting over the wound on his abdomen. When he realized that the gash wasn't the source of all the blood, he looked up into Mustang's face in alarm, staring at the blood on his lips.

"Oh... oh no, Roy..." he moaned when he understood, his words made soft with breathless horror. Mustang didn't give a response to his voice or presence. He probably couldn't even hear him any more, his senses secreted away under the cloak of Death, his eyelids sliding half-closed over blind eyes.

Hughes looked up at Ed, his own wide, panicked eyes bright with the beginnings of tears. "Ed... Ed, go get help..."

"Al's already doing that..." Ed told him, voice hitching a little as Hughes' tears drove home the reality of what was happening. Oh God... Oh, Mustang, no...

"Just go!" Hughes shouted, frightened and angry as his eyes overspilled.

Ed spun and bolted out the door after his brother, terrified of what he'd allowed to happen.